"Bye mum!" I shout as I sprint down the stairs to freedom. "See you at 7!" I take a sneak peek in the mirror and think of how dead I would be if mum caught me trying to leave dressed like this.Her daughter, her baby girl, ME! But think of the devil and he ( or in this case she) shall arrive. As I put my hand on the door handle to leave, I feel a steely grip on my shoulder. That glance in the mirror clearly cost me. She twists me around and hands me a pair of old, tattered jeans with Gord-, I can't even think of that name, with HIS name written on the pocket in pink sparkly permanent marker. Also in the pile of clothes she expects me to put on is an orange, polyester shirt which is still too big for me. What she thinks is that I bought it from the K-mart or something and expects me to wear it, but really Gord-, HE gave it to me for my birthday (cheep scape that he was) and I had tossed it in the bin after the incident, but she must have found it.
"Thanks mum, but...urr...there is no way I am wearing this!" She looks at me as if to say that there is no way I am getting out of this, and then I think of something that would mean she would let me off as she hates clashing colours, I mean H-A-T-E-S them! "I don't have any shoes that would match them. Anyways I gotta get going."
"I thought of that too!" She says before my hand can reach the door handle again. Is there anything she hasn't thought of? I turn around and she hands me an old pair of grey converse, the ones dad gave her before he left for the army, before he left for Afghanistan, before he left from us. "Look what I found! They don't fit me any more so I think it is about time you have them. Actually to be honest they never fit me in the first place!
The outfit screams social suicide. I mean she reads vogue and Elle magazine. You would think she would know what you should and shouldn't wear in public. I storm up the stairs to my bedroom slamming the door behind me as she shouts after me that she is going to drive me to school. She must be kidding me! Dad used to take me driving on a private road when I was little so as soon as I came to America I got my licence. The driving instructor was pretty scared as I had never had an official driving lesson before but soon passed me with flying colours, I guess dad is a better teacher than I thought. I have my licence, I have Dad's old car/waggon thing and I have the keys so if mum thinks that she is going to be driving me to school then she has another think coming!
After I undress I look at the clothes laid out before me. As soon as I get home from school I am going to burn these and anything that belonged to Gor-, HIM! This is my life, and I am not going to let the ghosts of the past haunt me. Not now, not ever! Eventually I pull on the clothes she has laid out in front of me and lace up the shoes. I reach into one of the cardboard boxes and grab my make up box. It was dads toolbox, but after he left with 'Beverly', mum went on a mad rampage and boxed all his stuff up never to be seen unless needed. I "inherited" the toolbox and it makes a surprisingly good makeup box. I step back after touching up my makeup as my emergency kit is somewhere at the bottom of my handbag which is now my school bag. Looking in the mirror I see a girl, blue eyes, blond hair, button nose, 5"11, but not me. And then I look at the clothes. Bad memories linger in the fabric, pinching at my skin. And if that isn't bad enough, the outfit makes me look like I am wearing a plastic bag.My mum and I clearly have very different tastes in fashion, or more like I have a taste and she is just colour blind.I grab my ipod and blackberry and put on the pair of beats dad sent for Christmas a few years ago, my last present from him, and run out the door with my songs on shuffle.Finally, freedom. I slide in the car jamming my key in the ignition. I swing onto the road. Which way is the school? Which side of the road do I drive on? Well here goes nothing!
School gates Would home school have been better? It would have been safer, I would have known my way around, but no. That would have meant more time with mum, something I am not prepared to do. I finally pick up my nerve and cautiously drive into the school parking lot. I park the old piece of junk and brace myself for the life of American high school chick. Stepping out of the car I ask myself: Am I ready? I guess now is the time to find out. Positive thoughts right? That is what my therapist said? It is so hard to concentrate when he is speaking as he is so damn cute!
OK! Breath Izzy. High school get ready, because here I come! Remember: one foot in front of the other, one step at a time. High school come and get me, take your best shot, fire away...
And that is when my pretty little daydream is interrupted by harsh reality as I slip and fall face first onto the steps. Laughter fills my ears as I look around and see a crowd full of mocking faces. Great going Izzy! Since the incident I am shy and I have already gathered a crowd! I guess bad starts are my calling and moving to America isn't going to be any different.
Reality just isn't a pretty thing and High school is no exception to that rule...
YOU ARE READING
The ball, The pitch and the game...
Dla nastolatków"If you win then I'll share the prize..." Izzy Mason is a victim...But of what? That is what she can't remember. The image of her past is obscured and what she can't remember might be her deadliest secret... Starting a new school, in a new country...
